


From ashes, he rises.

by RussianSunflower3



Series: Rescue November 2020 challenge by Bonanza [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Bad beginning with a good ending, Day One prompt - Heatwave, Fire, Gen, Implied poverty, Ironhide be like oops i accidentally adopted a younger brother, Origin Story, RBRescueNovember2020, Rescue November 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27344302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianSunflower3/pseuds/RussianSunflower3
Summary: In all genres of fantasy and lore, heroes always seemed to begin with a quaint, noble lifestyle, blessed with talent, popularity, and kind-hearted charisma.That issonot the start Heatwave had in life.
Series: Rescue November 2020 challenge by Bonanza [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996795
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	From ashes, he rises.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonanza/gifts).



> Just for reference!  
> Ironhide is roughly the equivalent of a 23 year old.  
> Heatwave is the equivalent of a 12 year old.  
> and Orion Pax is around the equivalent of 1 and a half years old. (15-18 months range.)

In the thinnest slither of moonlight stretching between giant buildings, a glint of red catches in the darkened alleyway. Darting from shadow to shadow of Cybertron’s moonlit surface, a figure moves with surprising speed. 

“The thief went that way! Quickly!” An angry encore of grown mechs rings out from not too far away.

“Scrap…” Abandoning his careful, sleuth-y escape, the thief runs for it. The echoing sounds of his own pedesteps are quickly overtake by the much heavier, angrier ones of those chasing him.

“Gotcha!” A rough shake sends stolen energon cubes skittering across the metal ground, one of them splitting open. Their soft glow illuminates the area and the figures in the alleyway just as the angry crowd catches up to them and-

“Aw fer frags sake! It’s that pit-spawned youngling again!” A groan of protest goes up. A few immediately turn around, going back to their bars and pubs that remain open through every night. The mech holding the thief - the _youngling_ \- drops him.

Backpedaling, the youngling grabs a cube and attempts to scramble to his pedes, but is quickly knocked back down by a somewhat aggressive and overcharged mech.

“Frag off! Let me go!” A steady servo wraps around that of the drunken mech’s, stopping him with a good level of authority.

“Easy dere, pal. Leave the brattling ta me. Ah got this.” A snort of disbelief. The aggressor backs off all the same.

“Yer too soft on th’ lil punk, Ironhide.”

“Ahh, shut yer yapper. Ah’m gonna deal with it this time.” The youngling flinches, but covers it up with a growl.

“Come any closer and I’ll break your servo off!” Ironhide only rolls his optics, knowing the threat to be empty. Or… Partially empty. He has been bitten before.

“Good luck, young ‘un!” The bartender gives the youngling a stern look but claps Ironhide on the pauldron all the same and guides the not-so-angry-anymore mob back to his bar.

When the alleys are empty asides from the soft glow of the spilt energon, Ironhide sighs.

“C’mon now, Youngling-”

“Don’t call me that! You haven’t been a third frame for long!” There’s a moment of silence, hanging between them, the youngling glaring at the only adult that’s ever given him a chance. Doesn’t mean he has to be _nice_.

“Heatwave.” The glare lessens at his designation. Instead, he looks to the puddle of energon, scuffing the tip of his pede on the ground guiltily.

“M’not gonna stop.”

“Ah know, ah know. An’ I ain’t saying you gotta stop completely. I git that yer doin’ this ta survive. But youn- _Heatwave_ , ya gotta stop stealin’ from the roughest scrap holes this side o’ Kaon!” Venting a huff, Heatwave crosses his arms and averts his gaze with just enough sass that it’s somewhere between bored and _rude_.

“I can’t help it if the security around here is scrap! They’re the easiest places to break into…” One of Ironhide’s optical ridges raises, and his servos come to rest on his hips. 

“Ain’t ya supposed t’ be recharging anyways? Ya got school tomorrow!”

“Uh… Yeah, sure.” Stiff as a sheet of non-living metal, Heatwave tenses, still not meeting the optics of his interrogator. (Okay, it’s not quite an interrogation, but Heatwave _is_ only a youngling.)

“Heatwave…!” Ironhide holds the low, disappointed tone just long enough for Heatwave to realise this is serious. He holds both servos out in front of himself, as if trying to physically pat down the situation.

“Look, I know I promised, but it really isn’t my fault! I _tried_!”

“Get into ‘nother fight, buddy?” Venting a sigh much too large for his small frame and far too weary for such a young bot, Heatwave moves to lean against the wall of the closest building and sinks down to the floor, arms over his knee joints and helm pressed down on his arms.

“Yeah, but they didn’t kick me out for that.”

“Kick you-?! A’right, explain it ta me then.” Side-eyeing Ironhide, Heatwave glares until Ironhide gives him a small, encouraging smile. Sometimes, he acts so much like a full-fledged adult - and drinks high grade insanely frequently - it’s hard to remember that he’s only just past the mechling stage.

He’s kind of like an older co-creation.  
Something Heatwave didn’t sign up for, (or expect), but it’s… Okay.

He returns the small smile with a little flicker of warmth in his spark, stretching out his legs and planting his servos flat on the floor next to him. Ironhide, sensing the tension has passed, moves to sit right next to him.

“Okay, well… You know how I said there was a test last cycle?”

“Yeah? Tell me yer not a cheater, ‘Wave.”

“I ain’t! I mean, I’m _not_. I just… Ifailedeverysubjectwiththeworstgradesever.”

“... Say again?”

“I failed, okay?!” Heatwave pushes himself up with a surge of anger, standing above Ironhide and leaning into his space. Ironhide is tense, and Heatwave knows the mech could easily toss him away if he was actually threatened. It’s _dangerous_ to enter a mech’s space in these areas, but for some reason, Heatwave finds he can trust Ironhide enough to do so.

“I’m so _stupid_ , they kicked me out! I told you I’d never be anything! I’m nothing! I _told_ you I wasn’t cut out for anything more than being a _stupid, dumb **thief!!!**_ ”

The shouted words echo in the silence of the Cybertronian night. Heatwave vents heavily, his servos clenched tight and optics watering with fluid. To his credit, Ironhide hasn’t even flinched. Instead, he slowly reaches forwards and gently pushes Heatwave out of his personal space. 

“A’right, a’right. So ya failed. So what? Doesn’t mean yer ‘nothing’. Some mechs got diff’rent talents. Ya had a go at academics, an’ ah’m proud of ya for that. But I weren’t good at school either. Yer gonna be great, Heatwave. Ya jus’ have ta find yer thing. Yer _specialty_.”

“Stealing.”

“... Not a specialty if you get caught ev’ry damn time!”

“Not _every_ time!” Ironhide casts him a scolding look - that of an older co-creation catching their younger in the act. Heatwave shrinks back with a guilty shrug and nervous grin.

“Seriously, Youngling? Yer gonna get yerself deactivated one ‘o these days! Folks round here ain’t so… Ain’t… So…” His sentence trails off, distracted. 

“Uh… ‘Hide?” Ironhide stands, Heatwave skittering backwards. But Ironhide’s optics aren’t on him. They’re on something in the distance. Turning around, Heatwave spots it almost immediately.

Above the shadows of the buildings around them, outside of the commercial district and somewhere close to - or _in_ \- the residential district, there’s an eerie orange glow that permeates the darkened sky above. Smoke rises and curls in thick, uncontrollable plumes, like an angry mass of acid clouds that had been possessed by Unicron itself.

“What- What do we do?” Heatwave awaits an answer, but Ironhide seems frozen in place. Suddenly, without any warning, he bolts from the spot, heading towards the area.

Not knowing what to do, Heatwave follows. It’s hard to keep pace, his youngling body cursing him with shorter strides and a harder time getting over obstacles littering the alleyways.

The closer they get to the orange glow, the more apparent it is from the flames licking over buildings and the everpresent roar that this is no normal blaze.

This is a fire the size of an apartment building.

“Stay back, kid!” Authorities crowd the raging inferno, enforcers holding back those trying to get in, fire departments trying to wet the surrounding buildings in an attempt to stop the fire spreading. It’s all they can do.

“Ah can help! Ah got liquid nitrogen!” Heatwave spots Ironhide clinging to the pauldrons of an enforcer near the tape. As soon as he states how he can help, the enforcer nods and lifts the tape, letting the mech slip beneath and head towards the nearest fire marshal for instructions.

Wide-optics watch in awe and amazement as Ironhide moves to where he’s told with no hesitation, his plating glowing in the wake of the flames like a _hero_ from the tales Heatwave heard as a sparkling. 

But those stories never featured the sobs of the devastated around them. The stench of burning fuel and singed metal plating. The pleading screams of a femme _begging_ for her sparkling to be saved from the burning building-

A sparkling? Still in the building? 

Using his small size, Heatwave wriggles closer to the femme and turns his audials up as high as they can for a youngling.

“- please!!! He’s only a vorn old!” A vorn. Tiny enough that he would have only _just_ started speaking. Heatwave’s spark clenches. It was unfair. Life was unfair, but this? This was plain cruelty.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but-”

“ _It’s the top apartment, he’ll **die**_!!!!” The top apartment, top apartment…

There!

Above the other burnt down apartments is one in ruin, teetering on the edge of collapse. All that connects it to the main body of the building is a strut - or a plank. Nonetheless, it’s a thin board of metal that bends dangerously as the flames lick around the structure.

It’s too thin for anyone to cross. Too fragile, too prone to _breaking_ under the weight of a rescuer.

Or at least…  
Under the weight of a _full-frame_ rescuer.

“I’m borrowing this!” Dashing forwards, Heatwave grabs the access card the femme holds out pleadingly to the enforcer she’s begging. He doesn’t dare slow down or stop. Transforming into his alt mode - a ridiculously tiny cyberlunar buggy - Heatwave dodges anyone who lunges for him, if they even take their attention off the fire.

He vaguely hears Ironhide shouting his name with a _terrifying_ amount of anger, but that’s a concern for future Heatwave. The heat of the flames lick at him and-

“Huh, that’s not as hot as I thought…” Not noticing that the red of his youngling frame deepens to a scarlet and glows like a sun, Heatwave powers through, believing entirely that fire just isn’t as hot as he imagined. He’s still overheating, that’s for certain. 

And he’s _scared_.

But he’s sure the trapped sparkling is more scared than he is. That alone is enough to keep him going. 

His hover wheels whip up a soft breeze as he screeches to a halt just before the metal beam that holds the floor of the top apartment to what little remains of the main building. He transforms back to root mode. 

“Youngling, you _git yer tailpipes down here, **right now**_!” Ah, Ironhide’s exceptionally angry. Furious, even. Heatwave makes the mistake of looking down to see if he can spot the familiar face, and an imaginary lump forms in his throat tubing.

A soft whimper, near inaudible over the surging blaze and the roar of water and liquid nitrogen, catches Heatwave’s audial receptors.

“No can do! Someone’s in trouble!” 

“ _ **HEATWAVE!!!!**_.” Despite Ironhide’s livid shout, he’s the first to see what Heatwave is trying to do, and the first to aim his liquid nitrogen at the metal beam.

It cools it down, slowing the rate at which the steel hybrid melts. Knowing that he is this sparklings _only_ chance, Heatwave vents sharply and tests the strength of the beam with one careful, tentative pede. It flexes, but it holds.

“Okay, Heatwave, nice ‘n’ slow…” He hesitates for a moment, feeling fear freeze him in place. Another whimper.

One step after another. Keep venting. Don’t look down. Arms out for balance.

The crowd below frets and worries as more and more individuals notice the youngling precariously edging his way along the beam. Rescuers turn their hoses and sprays in his direction, keeping the fire from reaching him completely.

As soon as his digits brush over the charred wall of the apartment, Heatwave grabs onto the twisted metal and pulls himself to relative safety. Just in time. The beam he had walked across melts in the middle and drops down to the debris below.

Venting a sigh, Heatwave rolls his optics.

“Great. Couldn’t have lasted _one_ more breem?” Then, he activates the miraculously still working door with the stolen access cared. He throws the useless card away, and crams himself into the twisted wreck of the building, the outerwork melted and twisted, forming grotesque vertical structures that weld the floor to what little remains of the ceiling. Grunting as jarred edges scratch at his paint, Heatwave manages to wriggle into a tiny gap. 

Tiny enough that a suitably frightened sparkling has tucked himself away in it.

“There you are! C’mon kid, we gotta roll out!” The sparkling, a darker red than Heatwave, but with a strikingly blue helm, shrinks back at the snap of Heatwave’s vocals.

“Come _on_ , you don’t want to melt in here, do you?” The sparkling blinks warily at him, tilting his helm curiously. Heatwave almost growls impatiently. But that’s when he thinks of the one mech who inspires him to try, who believes he can be something more than… Nothing.

He forces his vocoder into a calm state, speaking as softly as Ironhide first did when he found a beaten thief curled up next to a puddle.

“Hey there. I’m, uh… I’m here to save you?” Innocent blue optics shutter slower than before. Heatwave’s plating glows hotter as the fire draws closer, flames licking his armour and smoke curling around his entire frame. He’s starting to feel the heat.

“My designation’s Heatwave. What’s yours? Your designation?” For a moment, he doesn’t think he’s going to get an answer and considers just grabbing the sparkling and bolting for it.

“...-ax…”

“Huh?”

“Owion Pax…” Scrunching up his faceplates, Heatwave reminds himself that sparklings this age still can’t pronounce things properly.

“Orion Pax, yeah? Well, can I call you Orion?” The sparkling nods, shy and afraid, his tiny servos rubbing away at tracks of lubricant leaking from his optics that have already evaporated in the searing heat.

“Okay, Orion. It’s really hot in here. And your creator is all the way down there, outside. So, uh… Want me to take you outside?” Orion clutches at a charred toy pressed against his chassis, hilariously oversized compared to the runt of a sparkling.

“Cre’tor?”

“Yeah. We’re going to your creator. Come on, lets roll, okay? But you have to listen to me. You have to be _careful_.” Orion nods, his nasal ridge scrunching up as he tries to repeat a few words, but in the end, all that comes out is;

“W- Ro- Roal out.” Snorting a laugh, Heatwave reaches out. By some luck, (Primus smile down on Ironhide for the positive influence), Orion trusts the youngling enough to crawl towards him.

“ _Roll_ out.”

“Woll?”

“Roll. Rrrr. Ruh-oh-llll.” 

“Roll!” A happy little chirp follows Orion’s chipper echo. It’s quickly wiped away when metal from above splinters off, crashing to the floor with a shower of sparks and smoke, before it skids off the rapidly sloping apartment and down into the chasm Heatwave had crossed via beam.

A beam that wasn’t there anymore.

“Ohh, pit, this is fraggin' stupid. Uh, don’t repeat any of that.” Pushing to his shaking pedes, Heatwave offers a hand to Orion. He takes it, nodding with all the seriousness of a bot much older than himself.

“Roll out.”

“... That all you’re gonna say, huh?”

“Roll out!”

“Primus above, your creator’s going to deactivate me if this fire doesn’t.” Orion only tilts his helm sweetly again, looking up at the youngling holding his servo. Bright, innocent optics don’t wave as he clings his toy closer and lightly nibbles a well-chewed part with his developing denta.

Heatwave chuckles. The kid’s cute.

Stepping towards where the beam _had_ been, the two are met with an even more intense raging fire, the heat and the roar and the brightness almost overwhelming. Orion hides his faceplate in Heatwave’s servo. Heatwave cringes at the sharpness of it all. 

The acrid scent of molten metal, cloaking smoke, and destroyed good hurts his olfactory sensors more than the heat hurts his plating. The fire has changed course. It’s right beneath them, bridging the gap from one side of what now seems like a chasm to the other.

There’s no getting back the way Heatwave came in.

There’s no getting out behind them, either. The apartment walls have started to fall in chucks as the fire melts it unevenly. They can’t go to the left, they can’t go to the right, they can’t go down.

Only one option is left.

 _Up_.

“What the frag is higher than the top floor of an apartment block?!” Heatwave looks around frantically, hoping the nearby buildings would be taller, but no. This was one of the tallest in Tagan Heights.

Then, his optics catch onto something.  
Taunt cables high above them. 

“The Aerial Tramway line…” Heatwave looks at his knuckles. Then back to the tramway. And back to his knuckles.

“If this works…” He looks to Orion as if the sparkling could give him reassurance, but the little one just looks petrified. He's even dropped his burnt toy. Taking in a deep vent, Heatwave projects his voice as far as he can.

“Ironhide!” It doesn’t take long for Ironhide to skid into view, very clearly pointing a stern, lecturing digit at the youngling.

“Heatwave! Yer in big, _big_ trouble, ya unhinged lil’ cretin!”

“Yeah, whatever.” He scoffs under a vent, quiet enough that only Orion hears him. The sparkling giggles shyly. All Heatwave can think about, like it’s on loop in his processor is _get the sparkling out of here, get him safe, it’s not safe, not safe, not safe!!_

“I need your help!” There’s a moment of quiet, filled only by the mutter of the crowd and roar of the fire, as Ironhide paces three steps to the right, then back to his original place. No doubt cursing Heatwave out.

“A’right! What d’ya need?” Poising his arm to shoot out the (amazing, incredible) hook on a rope he had installed in his upgrade to a youngling frame, Heatwave jerks his head upwards to the overhanging cables.

“Stand under those, then shoot straight up! There’s no time for questions, so just _do it_.” Something in his voice must convey his urgency and how serious he is, because Ironhide jogs into position without complaint or hesitation, aiming his arm upwards, liquid nitrogen ready to fire.

“Ah’m shootin’ in three… two…” Heatwave waits just until Ironhide is about to call out the last number, then fires off his hook diagonally upwards. It stretches out to the max, and then, with nothing to grab onto, slowly goes limp and starts to fall.

“One!” The rope doesn’t even make it horizontal before a strong blast of liquid nitrogen powers it upwards, fighting against gravity and forcing the metal hook attachment back into the Cybertron sky.

“Yes!” Cheering, Heatwave gives the extension a tug to make sure it’s fully secure on the tramway cable line. It holds. 

Good timing, too, as the floor beneath their feet lurches and sways, almost toppling completely. The only reason they don’t slide down the harsh gradient is because Heatwave is attached to the line above, and digs his pedetips into the hot, melting floor as he pulls Orion close to him.

The sparkling looks frightened at the fire, and Heatwave can feel his plating shake, but Orion says nothing. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t scream, he doesn’t even try to run.

“You know I’m your only way out, huh?” Rounded blue optics - appearing to flicker slate and bronze in the reflection of the flames - meet Heatwave’s own, and Orion gives a small whimper as his digits dig uncomfortably in transformation seams.

“Not there, okay? C’here. And hold on tight, this is gonna be… You know what? Let’s say fun. This is going to be _fun_.” It’s not. It’s going to be terrifying and scary and if it goes wrong, incredibly messy.

But sparklings like fun things, right?  
And right now, Heatwave _needs_ to get little Orion Pax clinging to his chassis, not his leg.

“Fun?”

Yeah. Fun. Like, uh… A pendulum. A swing.” A little excitement flickers in Orion’s optics despite the situation. He lets go of Heatwave’s leg to reach up with both arms enthusiastically.

“Roll out!” Laughing, Heatwave leans down as much as he can without hurting his upgrade feature, and allows Orion to clamber up his chassis, looping both arms around his neck. One arm underneath supports his weight.

“Well, this is more like flying. But sure, buddy, let’s roll out. Hold on tight!” Not complaining that he’s now being slightly choked, Heatwave wraps his arm tighter around the sparkling and jumps.

The first couple of astroseconds before the fall is the worst. Then, gravity takes hold. Orion squeals with delight and Heatwave yelps as the rope reaches full length, jolting his upgrade painfully. It leaves them dangling from the cables above, still a good distance from the ground, but far enough away that _the fire can’t get them._

They’re safe.

“Y’alright, young ‘un?” Heatwave groans, letting the ache in his arms wear off before he answers Ironhide.

“You sound just like every bartender in the low end calling me that.” There’s light chuckling at Ironhide’s expense from those that are close enough to hear, setting up a rescue area for the exhausted youngling and giggling sparkling that swing on the cables like - as Heatwave predicted - a pendulum.

“Brat! Ah’m gonna tell your creator aaaaall ‘bout this, an’ _then_ we’ll see who’s laughing!” Ironhide can’t keep the grin off his face as he watches the two swing back and forth as if they hadn’t just been trapped in a melting, blazing building.

The apartment Orion had been in had crashed to the floor in a strangely quiet manner, as if the column holding it up had neatly curved over and placed it on the flaming wreckage beneath.

From here, Ironhide can see that the bottom of Heatwave’s pedes are slightly singed. Nowhere _near_ as burnt as they should have been. And that bright glow on his paint is more than just the reflection of fire and flames… It’s _actually_ his _**paint itself**_.

Heat-absorption abilities. An _outlier_.  
The kind of thing that saw mechs disappear quietly off backstreets in the face of the Government law against them.

It wouldn’t be recognisable to anyone who was watching from afar or if they didn’t know the youngling. Glancing around, Ironhide is sure he’s the only one that’s noticed.

So he says nothing.  
Outliers didn’t hurt anyone. Bad people with outliers did.  
And Heatwave was _good_. That much Ironhide knew, and now, the entire residential district of Tagan Heights did too.

“Can you maybe not? He’s already not happy I got kicked out of school.” Dropping to the large, inflatable cushion underneath, Heatwave lies flat on his back, rubbing at his sore arm. His hook had already been disconnected from above by a rescue bot on a ladder, but Heatwave didn’t bother to reel it in until the aching stopped.

Orion sat on his chassis and pat at Heatwave’s cheekplates as if trying to cheer his new friend up. Heatwave smiled softly and caught Orion’s wrists, lowering them to his sides.

“Since you’re not in school, how about joining the academy?” That’s not Ironhide’s voice. Sitting up slightly and looking to his left, Heatwave is met with an outstretched dark blue servo.

That servo belongs to a mech who's plating shifts in the light, shades of blue mixing and swirling like rivers of stardust. On that mech’s shoulder is the rescue bots badge, emblazoned with gold to mark him as the _leader_ of this rescue force team.

“Torrent, sir!” Ironhide salutes, also startled by the old bots appearance. The mech is a legend in these part! Cautiously, and a little in awe, Heatwave takes the offered servo and is helped off the inflatable. Then, he registers the words spoken to him.

“Wait- Academy? What? You mean the _rescue_ academy???” Torrent laughs a jovial laugh, warm and welcoming. He kneels down on one knee, meeting Heatwave's height and puts a servo on his pauldron. His other servo distractedly plays with Orion, letting the sparkling inspect his digits with all the seriousness of a date clerk checking a datapad.

“What you did today was dangerous, reckless, desperate, and hasty. You could have gotten yourself very badly hurt, even killed. What’s worse is that you endangered _someone else_ too. Your actions today were borderline stupid.” Heatwave looks down guiltily. Then, the servo on his shoulder squeezes comfortingly, and Torrent gives him a soft smile.

“But it was also brave. You acted instinctively, kept calm under pressure, and thought outside the box. Not even I would have thought of using the tramway! Today, you saved a life, youngling, even at the risk of your own.” A cheeky wink.

“That’s what I like to see in a hero.” Heatwave looks up with optics wide in surprise.

“H-Hero? With all due respect, sir, _no way_. I’m.. I’m just a wash out. A low-life thief with no special talents o-or even basic education! Someone like me-”

“Just needs a little training and patience. You have potential, youngling! That’s all a good rescue bot needs. Your other qualities are just a bonus on top.” When Heatwave averts his optics, either out of self-consciousness or out of stubbornness, Torrent sighs. He unsubs a small info chip, holding it out and trying to keep it out of Orion’s curious reach.

“Just give it some thought, okay?” Ironhide steps forwards and lightly brushes his digits against Heatwave’s back in encouragement. Grumbling under a vent, Heatwave takes the chip and tucks it in his subspace. For an astrosecond - too quick for Heatwave to notice - Ironhide and Torrent share a look.

One that reads “What is he like?”, or a fond exasperation.

“ _Orion!!!_ My sparkling!” Orion perks up at the call, looking over to where a femme is being let under the caution tape to run over to them. Laughing, the sparkling reaches out in expectation of being held.

He’s not disappointed. Heatwave holds him out and Orion is swept up in a hug.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, oh my bitlet!” With her sparkling safe in her arms, the femme moves to pull Heatwave into a one-armed hug, pressing her wet cheekplate against his own.

Belatedly, he notices Torrent has walked off to aid in smothering the dying flames. The building may have burnt itself out, but the glowing ashes could easily be picked up by the wind and start another fire.

“Thank you… Thank you… You saved my creation. He’s everything to me, he’s my- my whole _life_. Thank you.” Whispered, tearful words reach Heatwave’s spark, keeping him warm but also stunning him into silence. What is he supposed to say?!

“I- I just wanted to help…”

“Still. Orion, say thank you!” The sparkling looks between his creator and Heatwave with innocent optics. Taking his digits out of his mouth, he excitedly exclaims;

“Roll out!”

“Oh, uh… Yeah, sorry about that. I said it once, and, well…” Through her rapidly drying tears, the femme laughs.

“This little rascal will probably remember that for life. He’s very good at parroting!”

“Pa’ting!” Heatwave crosses his arms, anxious to get out of here. He’s never really liked crowds, and there’s a few too many people here.

“Ah better git this youngling back to ‘is own creator, if ya don’t mind.” Primus must really be listening to him today. After a couple goodbyes and exchange of comms - not that Heatwave can access his yet - they’re finally leaving.

He’s nearly home, when all at once, the exhaustion hits Heatwave. He slumps against a wall sideways and vents heavily.

“Need a lift?” 

“Gah! Ironhide!” Heatwave jumps in legitimate shock. He’d thought Ironhide had trailed off back to the pubs and bars long ago!

“What are you _doing_?! Why are you following me?” Smug as anything, Ironhide nods his head towards the lower end residential district where Heatwave lives.

“Ah said ah was gonna tell yer creator, ah damn well am gonna tell her what you got up ta today!” 

“What?! No-!”

“Ah don’t go back on my word~.” Ironhide starts striding off, and Heatwave races to grab his wrist and try to pull him back, scorched pedes digging into the ground. It does nothing to stop the bigger, older mech.

“Ironhide, please reconsider!”

“Nope!”

Ironhide bends down and promptly scoops Heatwave up, carrying him over his shoulder like a sack of potitaniumtoes.

“‘Hiiiiiide!” 

The chip he received from Torrent goes forgotten about in the face of what Heatwave believes is the _**worst** betrayal of his life, and how could you do this Ironhide, I almost **died** and now you’re trying to get me killed?_

But one day, one fateful moment that changes the entire course of Heatwave’s life, he rediscovers that chip and applies himself to the academy.

From a scrappy little thief to a noble and true rescue bot in charge of his own Rescue Team, Heatwave had carved his own destiny through hard work, dedication, and a bright, loving spark.

Because all it took to be a hero was to be a good person.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!  
> If you're interested in taking part, check out Bonanza on Instagram! You'll find the prompts list posted there.
> 
> What about the other SIGMA-17 members? How do you think Chase, Blades, and Boulder started their journeys to become rescue bots?


End file.
